Here I come, baby.  I’m comin’ to lean on ya.

As I write this, I am beginning to notice a pattern.  Buying clothes for myself at Old Navy is not wise.  I have countless pairs of jeans and shirts in my closet that don’t fit, are a weird color, are falling apart or some combination of any of those three.  The one thing they all have in common?  Old Navy.

But, hey, they were also all very reasonably priced.  So there’s that.

Here’s the thing; I bought that crap because I thought it was cute at one time or another.  This sweater is textbook Old Navy…  Cute idea, slightly the wrong color, poor quality, ill-fitting…  And only sixteen dollars!  Why yes, ma’am, I’ll take it!

I like the fox, I do, but no one over the age of fourteen (I’m being generous here) should be sporting woodland creatures in the name of fashion.  Since I’m not the greatest at math, I clearly overlooked the fact that I am in my thirties and have no business traipsing around in a sweater emblazoned with Tod from The Fox and the Hound.

Still, it is kinda cute.  So I made a pillow out of it.  Lined with (what else but) a drop cloth.

I was mad impressed with myself when I finally zipped up the invisible zipper that I put in – after ripping it out only twice.  By the time I got around to getting started on the insert for the pillow, I had an epiphany.

Lightning had struck my brain.

Hey, I’ve got 826 down pillows scattered around the house.  Surely I can spare one of them for The Fantastic Mr. Fox.  They are all too big; I’ll just rip one open and make it smaller!!  Easy, peasy!

Do you have any idea how many fucking feathers are in a 20″ down pillow insert?  This many; it fills a bin that is big enough for me to lay down in.

So there I am, in the middle of the night, choking on the remains of some unfortunate specimen of water fowl, wishing I would have worn a mask, covered from head to toe in static-infused downy goodness, and it strikes me that some poor soul has to do this every damn day, forty hours a week, fifty-two weeks a year.  And I’m doing it for a HOBBY.  Clearly, I’m a dumbass.

Not that we didn’t already know that about me.  I mean, hey, I’m a grown woman buying clothes from Old Navy without trying them on.

Now I’ve got a pillow – a fox, made out of sheep’s hair (wool), stuffed with a goose. It is the turducken of soft furnishings… A sheeoxaquack?  I dunno.

Now, if you don’t mind me, I’m off to my closet to get a pile going for Goodwill.